


Serves 12

by HeartOfTheMirror



Series: Azaleas [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baking, Boxer Bucky, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Florist Steve, Light Feminization, M/M, St. Patrick's Day, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, playful, sweet talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfTheMirror/pseuds/HeartOfTheMirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky make traditional Irish apple cake for a St. Patrick's Day party with their friends.</p><p>Bucky is handsy and nothing bad happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serves 12

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveMuffinLessThan3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMuffinLessThan3/gifts).



> This is a gift for my dear friend LoveMuffinLessThan3 who asked for Azaleas Steve and Bucky baking together for her birthday. 
> 
> The recipe I used as the basis for this can be found 

It was unseasonably warm for March, and Bucky was listening to his workout playlist and dancing around their kitchen barefoot. The sunlight was streaming through the thin curtains that billowed with the strong breeze through the open windows.

“We have to do the mise en place,” Steve said, unable to keep the little grin off his face. Bucky’s sloppy bun was coming undone and his messy hair was falling more and more in his face and he twisted his hips and tossed his head back and forth. Bucky had absolutely dominated his match on Saturday and Coulson had been fired on Monday for planting tiny surveillance cameras all over the florist’s shop and watching them remotely for “signs of illicit activity”. In short, Bucky would have been in a fantastic mood even if it hadn’t been his cheat day and St. Paddy’s to boot.

“What?” Bucky said through a big grin as he pulled his hair tie out. Steve took a long moment to just watch as Bucky shook out his hair with his fingers and then gathered it up again into a new bun. “Steve?” Bucky asked with a grin, having caught Steve staring.

“The mise en place,” Steve said, looking down at the paper in his hands. “We have to measure and arrange the ingredients. It’s part of the instructions.”  
“Okay well why don’t you read out the ingredients and I’ll put them together on the counter,” Bucky offered.

“Okay,” Steve said, so we’ll do the cake first. For that we need flour,” he paused and Bucky grabbed the flour from the cupboard and set it on the counter with the air of a man planting a flag. 

“Baking powder,” Steve called, watching with great interest as Bucky bent back down to rummage for it in the cupboard. “Sugar,” he said as soon as Bucky straightened. Bucky raised an eyebrow and smirked at Steve, clearly cottoning on to his boyfriend’s priorities. He bent down again slower than before.

“Hold on,” Bucky said as he put the sugar on the counter. “You’re forgetting something.” 

“Wha-” Steve cut himself off as Bucky grinned devilishly and moved purposely towards the drawer where they kept their potholders and one other thing. Bucky pulled out the frilly apron with relish.  
“Buck-y,” Steve whined. “C’mon.”

“Put it on for me baby,” Bucky said in his lowest sultriest voice. “Don’t you like the present I got you? You look so pretty for me when you wear it,” Bucky cooed. Steve had worn that apron all of once. The matching high heels had been wrapped up lovingly in tissue paper and hidden in the darkest corner of their closet. Steve had no earthly idea what had possessed Bucky to put the fucking apron in the kitchen when he’d done the laundry after that escapade. He’d never asked but he was beginning to suspect his boyfriend had only been waiting for an opportune moment such as this one.

“Gotta keep your nice clothes clean, baby,” Bucky murmured, kissing Steve’s tomato red cheek as he slipped the yolk of the apron over Steve’s head and stepped in close to tie it around the back while he traded Eskimo kisses with his boyfriend.

“You’re such a fucking jerk,” Steve mumbled, feeling hot all over even though he was wearing clothes under the apron this time. He could have said no and put the apron back in the drawer. Bucky would never dream of raising a fuss if Steve was really uncomfortable, but he sure did love to put his baby on the wrong foot. Steve secretly loved that squirmy kind of intoxicated feeling of knowing he would do anything for Bucky, even things that would make him feel ridiculous and terribly un-sexy with anyone else. He loved the way Bucky sweet-talked him into it, putting all his attention on Steve. Putting in all that extra effort and charm just to get Steve to do something a dozen other people would probably do at the bat of Bucky’s eyelashes.

It was a rush.

Bucky ran his hands over the apron, smoothing out the creases and the wrinkles. The apron was simple aside from the red frills along the neck and the hem. It was white with two large pockets on either side. “Kiss the cook!” was written in curling red lettering over Steve’s chest. Bucky looked at him hungrily.

“Look at your tiny little waist in this number,” Bucky cooed. “How big your shoulders are in comparison. Like someone stood the fucking pyramid on its head. You beautiful equilateral motherfucker.” Steve was laughing before Bucky had even finished the sentence, and once he was laughing Bucky couldn’t help himself. Steve gasped, clutching at Bucky’s shirt to stay upright.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, choking on his own laughter. “Where do you even get this stuff?”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Bucky said, using Steve’s apron to dry his eyes. “That was actually something Val said.” 

“Your trainer called me a beautiful equilateral motherfucker?” Steve said, his voice cracking on the last three words as he tried to hold a fresh round of laughter in. 

“I mean, he says a lot of shit when he’s yelling at me but that one, in particular, was pretty memorable,” Bucky said. “He said if I wanted to keep that beautiful equilateral motherfucker of mine at home I better stop slacking and start earning my rep for real.”

“Val is an interesting man,” Steve said.

“More interesting than me?” Bucky teased, angling for a kiss.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, you’re prettier,” Steve snarked, kissing Bucky lightly before reluctantly shoving him away. “C’mon,” Steve said. “We have to get this cake in the oven sometime tonight.”  
When they had all the ingredients assembled Bucky said, “What next?” and leaned his chin on Steve’s shoulder to look at the recipe.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed, leaning back into Bucky’s solid warmth at his back. “Grease and flour an 8” or 9” round springform pan,” Steve read.

“Flour it?” Bucky asked. 

“I guess it helps it not stick,” Steve said. He would have shrugged but that might have dislodged Bucky and that’s the last thing he wanted to do.

“Okay but how do I know which one is springform?” Bucky asked muffled by how he was nuzzling his face into Steve’s neck.

“It’s the one your mother gave us for Christmas,” Steve said quietly, turning his head awkwardly so he could press a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Hop to you lazy asshole,” Steve said, elbowing Bucky gently. Bucky nipped at the tendon in Steve’s neck in retaliation. 

“Demanding,” he muttered over the resulting damp patch of skin, making Steve shiver a little even as Bucky peeled himself away. While Bucky dug around for the cake pan Steve turned the oven to 375 and got out the sifter, measuring cups, and the big glass bowl they used for baking.

“One,” Steve counted as he measured out the first cup of flour into the sifter. 

“Two,” Bucky counted casually for him from where he was still greasing the pan.

“Three,” Steve said as he dumped the last cup in and then took a little between his fingers to sprinkle over the freshly greased pan.

“You sift that,” Steve said, “and I’ll measure out the other dry ingredients.” Bucky groaned. 

“Stop giving me all the boring jobs,” he complained. 

“We’re baking a cake,” Steve said flatly, “It’s not like anyone’s setting high explosives. Fine,” Steve relented when he saw the pout on Bucky’s face. “You do the spices then.”

“What do I need?” Bucky asked though he could easily have looked at the recipe himself.

“Two teaspoons of baking soda,” Steve said, “a pinch of salt, and a quarter teaspoon of cloves and nutmeg each.” It was the work of a few moments to get it all mixed together. 

Bucky kissed the back of Steve’s neck to distract him and snatched the recipe from the counter. 

“Hey!” Steve complained, grabbing for it back.

“This part looks fun,” Bucky said with performative enthusiasm. “Cut up a stick and a half of butter and work it into the mixture with your hands until it resembles crumbs,” Bucky read aloud. “Steve you better peel and slice the apples while I do all the fun stuff,” Bucky said smugly. 

“You are such a pain in my ass,” Steve muttered as he dug through the drawer for the peeler. 

“Not at the moment but I could be,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve’s bubble butt a loving little squeeze that made his lover blush a little the way playing outside the bedroom in the “public” spaces always did. 

While Steve got to work on the four large Granny Smiths they’d picked out earlier at the store Bucky worked the butter into the dry mixture and then added three-quarters cup of sugar and worked that in with his already messy hands as well.

Steve tossed in the chunks of apple and then got down a separate bowl as Bucky worked the apples into the mixture until they were just combined. 

“There’s nothing worse than when all the apples are in one spot,” he told Steve as he fretted about whether it was mixed well enough or not. Steve hummed in response to his lover as he delicately cracked an egg against the rim of his own bowl. He tossed the shell into the garbage with a perfect little arc to his wrist. 

“Lucky shot,” Bucky called over his shoulder antagonistically, even though he hadn’t seen if the shell had gone in or not. 

“Raw talent,” Steve joked.

“Oh my god!” Bucky groaned, giving the effect that he was rolling his eyes even though Steve couldn’t see his face. “Your puns are more painful than Alvarez’s left hook.” Steve snorted so hard he almost fucked up cracking the second egg and had to dig little bits of shell out with a spoon. As soon as he was sure there were none left he added the three-quarters cup of milk and began beating the wet mixture together. 

Behind him Bucky rushed to the sound system and began playing “Beat It” by Michael Jackson loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the mixer. Steve turned around, hoping and dreading, and sure enough, Bucky was doing a half-improvised version of the dance from the music video, hip motions, full body undulations and all.

“Oh God in heaven,” Steve muttered, unable to take his eyes away, not sure if he was impressed or embarrassed.

“Dance with me!” Bucky called, holding out both his hands in a beckoning gesture and circling his hips invitingly. 

“I am going to kill you,” Steve said. “I am going to kill you with this bowl of eggs and milk. We have to bake this fucking cake you crazy asshole. The party is in like four hours and we still have to get ourselves ready and drive over. How am I supposed to concentrate when you keep _doing_ things?” Bucky laughed, delighted to have flustered Steve so much. 

“Okay, I’ll do my part,” Bucky conceded, putting his hands up innocently. “No foolin’ around until the cake’s done, I got it.” Steve eyed Bucky suspiciously, continuing to beat the wet ingredients.

“Mix this into the dry ingredients until they’re just combined,” Steve said, handing the bowl over to Bucky, still a little suspicious. Bucky nodded solemnly, took the bowl and did as he was bid. The batter was thick and dough like. Bucky stole a little taste while Steve frowned reprovingly and then dumped the batter into the cake pan and smoothed the top of it down using the back of his spatula the way he’d seen his mother do so many times when he was a boy. Steve sprinkle sugar over the top of the cake and called it good.

Bucky popped the cake into the oven and set the timer for forty-five minutes, as per the recipe instructions. By the time he turned around Steve was already cracking the eggs into a small bowl. He scooped out all six yolks with his hands and transferred them to the bowl they’d used for the wet ingredients before.

“Could you add six tablespoons of sugar and whisk those until they’re-” Steve checked the recipe, “pale yellow?” Bucky nodded and turned on the faucet so Steve could wash the egg off his hands as he was clearly yearning to do. 

Steve dried his hands and quickly poured a cup and a half of whole milk into a saucepan. They didn’t even keep whole milk in the house regularly but had bought a little carton of it just for this purpose, to make Steve’s favorite food in the world- Mrs. Barnes’s Apple Cake and Custard. 

When the milk came just to a boil Steve took the egg and sugar mixture from Bucky and slowly began whisking the hot milk into it. When it was fully incorporated Steve transferred the whole mixture back to the pot and began to stir it over medium heat. This was the crucial part. If he fucked up even slightly the whole custard would curdle and they would have to go out to the store to get more eggs and make it again. For the next four minutes or so Steve couldn’t take his eyes off this pot or stop whisking it for more than a few seconds at a time.

This is exactly what Bucky had been waiting for. He slipped up behind tucked his thumbs in Steve’s belt loops, holding on to his tiny hips. Steve hummed, enjoying the warmth of having Bucky near.  
Bucky kissed behind Steve’s ear in that place that made him feel weak in the knees. 

“Bucky,” Steve breathed. “I’ve gotta….”

“I know,” Bucky said between kisses. “You just focus on whisking.” Bucky tugged gently on the bow that kept Steve’s apron tied. Steve swallowed thickly as the knot came undone and the gentle weight of the apron hung more fully on his neck.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Nothin’ much,” Bucky drawled, running his palms over Steve’s lower back, the trim dip of his waist, the wide strong sweep of his shoulders. “Just gettin’ close to my baby.” Bucky’s fingertips slid under the hem of Steve’s shirt, tickling a little at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. Steve drew in a sharp breath and held it.

“Don’t stop whisking,” Bucky tisked, nipping at Steve’s shoulder through his thin cotton shirt. Steve looked down at the pot and realized that in his preoccupation he had indeed stopped the motion of his wrist that was keeping the custard from curdling as it cooked. He started up again, desperately trying to concentrate as Bucky’s fingers traced light ticklish patterns over his abs. 

“Breathe baby,” Bucky said, pressing both of his hands between Steve’s chest and his belly button so he could feel for the deep full breaths that meant Steve was complying. 

Steve took a deep breath and then another, trying to hold on to his reason and sanity as Bucky’s hands moved again, cupping his pecs and thumbing absently over his nipples. Steve felt wound tighter than a bow string. He kept his eyes determinedly on his work and concentrated on drawing long even breaths and Bucky sucked on his neck and worried the skin there between his teeth. He began rolling Steve’s nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging on them. Steve cast his eyes to the clock, sloppily checked the consistency of the custard. Only a couple more minutes and then he could turn off the burner and-

One of Bucky’s hands snuck down to the front of Steve’s pants, rubbing gently. Bucky nipped at Steve’s ear. 

“Such a shame you can’t turn around or stop whisking,” Bucky whispered playfully. “Or we might be able to do something about this.”

“You’re evil, oh my God you’re a cruel, vicious man,” Steve panted.

“I know,” Bucky said smugly. He wrapped both of his arms around Steve, just hugging him now and maybe grinding into his ass a little. “But you look so good all flushed and worked up,” Bucky confided. “Makes me want to lay you out and just take hours pulling you apart with pleasure.”

“You know what?” Steve said, “I think this custard is done.” He turned off the burner and pulled Bucky toward the bedroom as Bucky laughed. In the end, they didn’t have hours- didn’t even have one- because the timer on the cake went off and Bucky had to stumble out of bed cursing to pull it out of the oven. At least the cake was a huge hit at the party. If anyone thought the custard was a little runny they didn’t mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me at my tumblr.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Comments and kudos make me very very happy, just so you know :D


End file.
